A Kind of Launch Into the Dawn…

I saw them and I knew them all,
their faces a bubbling sea foaming slowly
into a stream that held a lurid aura of nostalgia.
A cast of lovely people turned immortal in my
mind through the use of mixed medium
black ink and graphite on college ruled paper.

Shoving them into my bag and
shoving my back into the base of the seat,
I prepared to, once again, slip through the
tightly woven fibers of gravity’s shirt. I escaped
somewhere through the collar; this I can tell
you because release was a two fold and
very pressing process.

Dallas,
Fortworth,
humming several times over the intercom
in conjunction with other garbled messages
that only those trained in the specific skill of
Morse Code can decipher.

The pill box that sits in my pocket has been
burning a hole in my leg, a subtle yet painful
reminder to take a much needed medication
for such occasions as days that I am breathing.
Upon opening the pillbox, a strange thought
floats down and touches my mind:

This pillbox is very much reflective of the larger scale of things, for up until today I didn’t know it was possible for so many humans to be in so small a space, and it is not that we are the pill box either, no, we are the medicine inside a single pill. The pillbox merely represents something bigger than us that keeps us closer to one another, something very different and nearly ineffable to our little, medication brains. We sit in cramped content because we are useful to the owner of the pill box.

I saw them and I knew them all, their tiny bodies a mix of
peach, red and white in my pale hand.
Capsules that promote healthy brain behavior.
And yet,
dauntless the plastic cup to my lips I set and drew,
Childe Bryson took his medication today.